Backpedaler

The plaster burns closing galleries of broken scenes,

And telephone cords are tightly strangling distant dreams,

The kind that spewed upon your thoughts causing future schemes,

I was in the back shotting absinthe just to dull the screams.

And we all find out, what went wrong.

And we all find out, where it all went wrong.

Backpedaler. Backpedaler. Backpedaler. Backpedaler.

His feet curled when his mother called him in for tea,

And nuclear static gripped the corners of a dusty screen,

Forcing out an omnibus designed to make your eyes bleed,

As nostrils twitch, he swiftly drops the fight and plants the seed.

And we all find out, what went wrong.

And we all find out.

A thousand silhouettes are clutching at their bandages,

And twelve of your siblings all stare upon the damage,

This world swallows souls and if history’s to challenge us,

Who am I to pick apart the truth from all the cavernous,

Wrecks that stack and form every ounce of my being,

They’re merely debts that decide the side of earth that I’m seeing,

Regrets, I’ve my fair share but consciousness is fleeing,

In a planet laced with synonyms and panic on your screens.

Backpedaler. Backpedaler. Backpedaler. Backpedaler.